<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>hold my hand, it's a long way down by everywordnotsaid</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050290">hold my hand, it's a long way down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid'>everywordnotsaid</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEAL Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clay Spenser Whump, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:42:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,833</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywordnotsaid/pseuds/everywordnotsaid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray had always looked at drowning as more of a metaphorical risk. Keep your head up, keep your eyes open, don't let the shit drag you down. But now, with the water licking it's way hungrily up his legs, it's very very real.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ray Perry &amp; Clay Spenser</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a little project I was working on on the side while I wrote my last story. Title is from the song Bottom of the River by Delta Rae. Hope everyone enjoys and as always stay safe and well!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sonny, you owe me fifty bucks.” </p><p>Clay says, a hint of triumph in his voice. Sonny shakes his head,</p><p>“Hey, this ain’t on me, the salt water was messing with the torch alright.” </p><p> Back on the plane over to Somalia Sonny had been talking big shit about how he was the fastest breacher on the teams and Clay had bet Sonny he couldn’t get through the ship’s bridge door in under twenty seconds. Thing is, nobody can get through a solid steel hull door in that short a time, no matter how good you, the physics on it just don’t shake out. Sonny, of course, had taken the bet because he doesn’t know when to quit. And Sonny, of course, had not gotten through the door in under twenty seconds. </p><p>Clay scoffs, shaking his head. </p><p>“Bullshit, salt water isn’t messing with your torch, you just can’t beat that record. Don’t feel bad buddy, nobody wins all the time.”</p><p>Ray can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see him through the gloom, can imagine the self-satisfied grin. Sonny looks like he’s gearing up to respond but Jason cuts him off before he can go anywhere with it. </p><p>“Hey, you two, cut the chit-chat. Little more working a little less talking, huh?”</p><p>“Yeah, sorry boss.”</p><p>Clay says, sounding appropriately contrite. Sonny just lets out a huff, mutters something about salt water and stupid bets and faulty torches. Ray shakes his head and resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead looking around the dark room they just cleared. They’re on a hostage rescue detail, Somali pirates who’d grabbed a few American scientists off a research vessel and is trying to ransom them for the pretty price tag of two million dollars. Last known location for the hostages had been gathered in the bridge under lock and key, so they’d headed there first, i.e. Clay and Sonny’s ridiculous bet.</p><p>Unfortunately when they’d breached the room there was no one to be found, hostages or otherwise. There is, however,  a puddle of blood smeared across the floor large enough that who ever it belongs too is probably not long for this world. Hopefully it’s not one of their scientists, or this mission might not have a happy ending.  </p><p>“Alright,” Jason says, “We’ll move downwards, clear one room at a time till we find where they’re keeping the scientists.”</p><p>Ray’s about reply in the affirmative when suddenly there’s the low heavy roar of an explosion and the floor suddenly tilts a little as the boat sways, everyone grabbing for support to stay upright.</p><p>“What the hell was that?”</p><p>Jason asks tightly, peering out of the windows of the bridge to try and get a glimpse. </p><p>“Uh boss, boat looks like it’s slowing down.”</p><p>Brock calls from where he’s standing by the instrument panel near the helm. </p><p>“Sounded like it came from the engine room.” Clay offers, quietly. “Could have been something went wrong down there.”</p><p>Jason nods. </p><p>“Alright, take Ray and check it out. Rest of you, on me let’s go find the hostages, get the hell out of here.” </p><p>Quickly and quietly Ray and Clay move through the cramped hallways of the ship, heading down towards the boiler room. They only encounter one patrolling tango on their way, who Clay quickly dispatches with a well placed round. Ray’s got the blueprints damn near memorized from staring a them for so long, and he taps Clay’s shoulder as the approach, jerking his head towards the door. Clay nods, moving to the side as Ray can spin the wheel to open it up. Making eye contact they both count down from three, and on the final count Ray yanks the door open so that Clay can duck inside to clear the room. A small trickle of water splashes out onto their boots as Ray pulls, dribbling to the floor. </p><p>“Clear,” </p><p>Clay shouts back after a second, as Ray follows, and quickly realizes where the waters coming from. The massive boiler is smoking alarmingly, and he can hear the sound of water gushing somewhere. Reaching for his comm he keys the channel, exchanging a glance with Clay. </p><p>“Bravo one, this is two. Looks like the boiler over pressurized and blew. Definitely got a leak somewhere, boiler room’s filling up pretty fast.” </p><p>Jason responds promptly. </p><p>“Copy that two, we’re going to be out of here way before we have to worry about that. Head back up and rendezvous with Alpha at the exfil point, we’ll meet you there once we retrieve the hostages.” </p><p>“Good copy six. Heading your way.” Ray replies, turning to Clay and jerking his head toward the door. “Come on, we’re meeting up with Alpha for exfil.”</p><p>Clay nods, starts to follow Ray back to the exit. He’s about to step out of the room when a tango rounds the corner at the end of the corridor and makes direct eye contact with Ray. Immediately the man reaches for his vest, unhooking something small and cylindrical and cranking his arm back in preparation. </p><p>Ray slams the door shut just as he tosses the grenade down the hallway at them, actually feels it ding against the metals. A second later another explosion rocks the boat, sending Ray flying wildly across the room, slamming into a wall painfully. His shoulder impacts first and then his head second, helmet rebounding against the metal and sending an explosion of sparks across his vision. It takes a second for his vision to stop swaying, or maybe it’s the ship.</p><p>“Bravo two-is one-hell was that?”</p><p>Jason says over the comms, voice sounding crackling and distant. Ray blinks slowly, trying to get his words in order. </p><p>“Tango had a frag, blew himself up in the hallway.”</p><p>Once his head stops ringing he does a quick once over and finds no major injuries, no broken bones. Righting himself he glances around the small room, looking for his teammate. Clay’s on his ass a few feet away from him, up to his hips in the water, looking a little stunned. There’s a few heavy storage crates that must’ve gotten dislodged in the explosion laying in a pile a few feet away but they seem to have missed him. </p><p>“Clay, you okay?”</p><p>He calls as he moves towards the middle of the room Clay nods slowly, still looking mildly dazed but alright.</p><p>“No harm.”</p><p>Ray feels something unclench, everything’s good, no ones hurt. Once he’s sure neither of them are actively bleeding out he heads for the door, ready to inspect whatever damage there might be, expecting Clay to join him. He doesn’t though, and Ray glances back to Clay, sees him sitting in the same spot. He’s about to ask what the hell he’s still doing on the ground when Clay looks up at him, and the expression on his face sends a thrill of fear down Ray’s back. </p><p>“Ray,” he says, very very calmly, “I think my leg is stuck.” </p><p>“What?”</p><p>Ray asks dumbly, trying to process the implications of what Clay just said.</p><p>“My uh, my leg. It’s pinned pretty good under those boxes. Don’t think I can get out.” </p><p>Clay says again, slowly. Immediately Ray’s moving forward, wading through the quickly rising water. Once he gets closer he can see that Clay’s right leg disappears under the boxes up to the knee. </p><p>“Can you tell if it’s broken?”</p><p>He asks, as he kneels in the salty water, feeling under the surface for the bottoms of the crates. Clay shakes his head. </p><p>“Don’t think so, just stuck.”</p><p>“Alright, I’m gonna try to lift these up, get ready to pull it out okay?”</p><p>Ray says, trying to get a good grip on the crate. It’s slick under his fingers, and he grimaces as the sharp edges cut into his hands even through his gloves. Clay nods, and on the count of three Ray starts to heave. They don’t even shift though, and after a few seconds of straining Ray has to give up. </p><p>“Okay,” He says, pulling back and wiping at the sweat beading along his hair. “Okay, that ain’t budging.” </p><p>Clay nods, the first signs of panic starting to show in his face. The water’s lapping at his stomach now, still rising frighteningly fast, and Ray tries not to think about it. Tries to focus on fixing the problem.</p><p>“Alright, uh, maybe-maybe there’s something we can use around here to leverage it?”</p><p>Clay suggests, voice tightly controlled. Ray wastes another minute looking around the small room for anything that could be used as a lever and finds a pipe that’s partially detached from the wall. He grabs a hold of it, wincing slightly as it burns at his palms, prying it from it’s casing. Once it’s free he turns and hurries back, wedging one end under the crate and pushing down with his full body weight. Whatever the pipe is made out of though isn’t very strong, and it starts to bend and buckle under the weight of the crate, warping uselessly in his hands. Cursing he pulls it out and throws it to the side. Realizing that strategy isn’t going to work he cycles through options in his head, trying to keep the panic at bay, trying to compartmentalize.</p><p>“I’m going to try the door, see if we can get some of this water out of here while we figure something out.” Ray says, squeezing Clay’s shoulder. “Be right back.”</p><p>He wades towards the door, water sloshing uncomfortably in his boots, and turns the wheel, pushing forwards. Nothing happens though, and there’s the creak of twisted metal from the other side. Grenade must’ve busted the hell out of the locking mechanism, trapping them inside. Ray curses, resists the urge to kick something. He’ll probably hurt himself, and it won’t make it open. Still, he’s tempted. Clay’s voice snaps him out of his anger. </p><p>“Hey, uh, waters getting kinda high over here, how’s that door looking?”</p><p>He asks, nervously. Ray leans forward, presses his forehead against the cool metal of the bulkhead for a second. </p><p>“It’s stuck.” He says shortly, taking a deep breath. “Gonna check in with Jase, see if they’re heading our way yet.”</p><p>He keys his comms, feeling a mix of anger and helplessness rising in his chest, pushing it down. </p><p>“Bravo one, this is two. Situations changed, six’s leg is stuck and waters rising fast. What’s your ETA for aid?”</p><p>“One this is six, one of the hostages took a bullet, he’s bleeding pretty bad. We gotta get him to exfil or he’s not going to make it. We’ll drop him with Alpha and circle back to you, should be there in eight mikes.”</p><p>Eight minutes. There’s no way Clay has eight minutes to wait, and from the way Jason’s voice sounds he knows that too. It must be killing the rest of the team not to come and help them, but it’s the way the job works. It’s what they signed up for. Civilians come first. </p><p>“Copy that six.” </p><p>Ray says, choking back the frustration and the fear. It’s not Jason’s fault, he’s doing the right thing. Ray just wishes doing the right thing wasn’t possibly going to cost Clay’s life. </p><p>“What’s the ETA?”</p><p>Clay calls from behind him, his radio must have broken when the frag went off. Ray turns to face him, feeling a rock in the pit of his stomach as he starts to wade his way back to where Clay’s sitting.</p><p>“Hostage got tagged, they gotta run him to exfil. They’ll be here in eight mikes, so we’ll just have to get creative until then, huh?”</p><p>He says, trying to sound positive, trying to sound less afraid then he feels. The water’s at his waist now, icy cold, and Clay’s under almost up to his neck. Clay nods, but there’s something in his eyes that scares Ray, something like acceptance.</p><p>“Listen,” Clay says, very calm again. “I need you to do something for me.”</p><p>Ray’s stomach drops even further, knowing exactly where this is going, hating where this is going.</p><p>“Clay-”</p><p>He starts but Clay just shakes his head, eyes desperate and resigned. </p><p>“Ray, listen to me. Listen to me. I need you to tell Stella I love her, okay, tell her I love her.”</p><p>Ray feels something in him shrivel away from the words Clay is saying, the deathbed confessions he’s suddenly the bearer of. His first instinct is to say no, tell her yourself because you’re not going to die, but it’s a selfish one. If their situations were switched he knows all he would be thinking about is making sure Naima and the kids knew he loved them, knew he was thinking of them in his last moments. So he pushes down the protests and the horror, and silently nods. </p><p>“And tell the guys-“ Clay continues, voice cracking. With fear or with emotion Ray can’t tell. “Tell ‘em it wasn’t their fault, don’t let them go do some dumb shit like blaming themselves. And tell Sonny he still owes me fifty bucks.” </p><p>His voice breaks then, rough with salt and something else. The water’s lapping at his chin now, reaching hungry fingers towards his mouth. </p><p>“Tell them I’m sorry.”</p><p>He finishes, so quiet Ray barely hears it. </p><p>“I’ll tell them, brother, I promise.”</p><p>He says, own voice thick with something, and takes Clay’s hand in his, squeezing it tight. It doesn’t take long for the water level to rise further, and Clay tips his head back, craning his neck to keep his face above the surface as long as he can. Ray knows there’s probably only seconds left before he goes under. Whatever he wants to say, has to be said now. But what do you say to a man who’s about to die? How do you give him comfort when there’s none to be found? </p><p>“Just hold on to me,” Ray says, as the water laps over Clay’s face, in his eyes, his mouth, his nose, “You hear me? Just hold on to me, I won’t let you go, brother, I’m not going to let you go.” </p><p>It’s not enough, Ray knows, but it’s all he has. Clay nods, wide scared eyes locked onto Ray’s. </p><p>“Tell them, Ray. Please.”</p><p>He gasps, words half-stolen by salt water as it starts to gag him. He takes a last gulping breath and then the waves close over Clay’s face.</p><p>“Bravo one this is two, you need to get here <em>now</em>, six just went under.”</p><p>Ray bites out, keying his comms with his free hand. </p><p>“Copy two-we’re on-ETA five-”</p><p>Jasons replies, barely intelligible, voice garbled by static. </p><p>“Five minutes, Clay, you just gotta hold on for five minutes okay?”</p><p>He shouts, knowing Clay can’t hear him, doing it anyway. The water is cold, frigid and merciless and endless. Already Ray’s starting to lose feeling in his toes, his fingers. Ray can’t imagine how Clay’s feeling, trapped beneath the surface. </p><p>Ray tries to keep time, how long it’s been since Clay went under. How long it’s been since Jason last checked in. They’re SEALs, they’ve been trained to hold their breathes under adverse conditions, but they’re not superhuman. There’s a limit, there’s always a limit. Clay’s hand is warm in his, still above the surface, and Ray holds on to it like a lifeline for them both.</p><p>After nearly three minutes a stream of air bubbles out of Clay’s mouth as he gives in to the pressure and takes a deep gasping breath. Immediately his fingers tighten, crushing the bones of Ray’s hands together uncomfortably, and Ray’s sure it’s going to leave bruises. The water around them starts to churn as Clay thrashes uselessly against the liquid rushing into his lungs. He’s drowning, Ray thinks numbly, drowning in four feet of water while Ray holds his hand. </p><p>He doesn’t know how long Clay convulses, fighting wildly against the inevitable. There’s nothing Ray can do, nothing all his years of training and experience gives him that will let him help, so he holds Clay’s hand and tilts his head back and prays. As the seconds pass Clay’s jerks get weaker and weaker, his grip loosening as he starts to lose consciousness. It’s horrible, but not nearly as horrible as when Clay stops moving entirely, fingers going suddenly limp in Ray’s. </p><p>Immediately Ray opens his eyes and looks down, prayers forgotten, heart hammering in his chest. </p><p>“Hey, Clay, Clay!”</p><p>He calls, shaking Clay’s hand in his, but there’s no response. He can still see Spenser, just below the surface. His eyes are open and staring at nothing, golden hair swaying like seaweed in the faint current, unmoving. Ray thinks he might throw up. </p><p>“Come on Clay, don’t do this to me man, come on! Don’t make me tell Stella you gave up, don’t make me do that!”</p><p>He’s pleading now, voice cracking and bending, like if he begs hard enough Clay will open his eyes. There’s nothing else he can do, so he begs and he prays and Clay does nothing, and his hand stays limp and still in Ray’s. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, I know, I'm mean, don't hate me please, next chapter's coming soon!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s the sound of movement from the entrance, someone shouting their names. A second later the shriek of metal scraping against metal and the door creaks slowly open. Immediately the water starts to flow out of the room in a rush, tugging at Ray’s sleeves as it goes. Clay’s slack limbs start to sink slowly with it, and Ray braces him in his arms, taking the sudden weight of his waterlogged body. </p><p>Sonny’s the first to push his way through the gap and into the room. He freezes for a second when he sees Ray sitting, Clay heavy in his arms, eyes wide. Trent follows close behind, pushing Sonny back into motion as he steps further into the room.</p><p>“What’s the situation?”</p><p>Trent asks urgently as Brock and Jason start to pry the door open wider. Ray forces himself to move, forces himself to respond, tries to shake off the numbness that clings to his fingers, his arms. </p><p>“Uh, he was under for a while. He’s still stuck, need to get the crate off his leg before we can move him.” </p><p>Ray replies, sounding very calm. He doesn’t let go of Clay’s hand. Immediately Sonny and Trent move towards the boxes, starting to heave at them. Jason and Brock join them a second later and between the four of them they manage to get the crate far enough up off his leg that Ray can pull Clay out. There’s a tear in the leg of his pants, and the black and blue bruising along his shin is vivid against too pale skin. </p><p>“How long was he under for?” </p><p>Trent bites out sharply as they work to get Clay laid out on his back in the hallway. Ray tries to think, but everything seems blurred together. </p><p>“Ray, <em>how long</em>.” </p><p>He snaps again, when Ray doesn’t respond.</p><p>“Uh, six minutes, maybe?”</p><p>Ray says, shaking himself. Trent nods tersely, crouching down beside Clay and pressing his fingers to Clay’s neck. </p><p>“Alright, not breathing, no pulse.” Trent says flatly, positioning his hands above Clay’s chest, “Brock, get ready to breathe for him.”</p><p>Brock nods, white faced, dropping to his knees beside Clay’s head. Trent starts compressions, pushing down forcefully on Clay’s chest. After thirty pumps he stops for a beat so Brock can lean down and press his mouth to Clay’s, pushing air into unresisting lungs. As soon as Brock finishes his two breaths he starts again, expression determined. With every compression a little bit of water spurts out of Clay’s mouth and down the side of his face, as his head lolls like a rag doll’s. Ray wants to look away but finds he can’t. Clay’s lips are blue; eyes still wide open and staring up at nothing. Ray’s seen more death in his life then he cares to think about, and Clay looks dead. Clay is dead. After about five minutes Trent looks over his shoulder to Sonny, </p><p>“Switch out.”</p><p>He orders, and Sonny scrambles to obey, replacing Trent’s hands with his own. They keep going. It feels like forever, feels like too long.</p><p>“Come on, Clay, don’t do this. Come on.”</p><p>Sonny pleads between compressions, voice jagged. His hands are steady and rhythmic even as he talks, pressing evenly on Clay’s chest, pausing just long enough to let Brock breath air into his lungs. It’s funny, Ray thinks, how Sonny’s pleas sound more like negotiations. After a few more minutes Sonny switches out with Trent again, but he stays near Clay, the faint shimmer of tears already welling in his eyes as he looks down at his friend lying limp and unmoving on the deck. </p><p>“Trent…” Jason says eventually, sounding ruined, sounding numb. “Trent. We need to-”</p><p>Trent just stubbornly shakes his head, keeps pressing on Clay’s chest. Brock is stock still at Clay’s head frozen like a statue </p><p>“Come on Clay, come on, fucking <em>breathe</em>.” </p><p>Trent bites out, angrier then Ray’s heard him before. Jason could order them to give in, order them to move, Ray knows, but he doesn’t. Just stays silent and watches as Trent tries to desperately to save Clay’s life, to bring him back from wherever it is he’s gone. </p><p>Trent’s starting to get tired, Ray can tell, sweat beading along his hairline and rolling down his face. Can tell from the way his shoulders and arms are starting to tremble. But he doesn’t ask Sonny to rotate in again, just keeps pumping on Clay’s chest. It’s been too long, a small terrible part of Ray knows. Clay is gone, and he’s going to have to look Stella in the eyes and apologize. Have to tell her that the man she loved died in front of him in waist deep water while he watched, and the weight of that feels insurmountable. Feels like it’s pressing him into the floor. Jason knows it too, Ray can see, from the way his shoulders have slumped, the look of defeat on his face.   </p><p>“Trent,” </p><p>He starts again, and Ray braces himself for the order, but before Jason can continue Clay suddenly jerks, body convulsing as he starts to vomit up what seems like an impossible amount of liquid. </p><p>“Okay, roll him, roll him, gotta get him on his side.”</p><p>Trent orders, voice shaking a little as he and Brock heave Clay onto his left shoulder, bracing him there while he works to expel the water in his lungs. Ray falls back against the wall behind him, legs weak with relief and lets his head tilt up to rest against the cool metal. </p><p>“Thank you, god.” He says, so quiet he doubts anyone else can hear him. “Thank you.”</p><p>Clay seems to have finished throwing up seawater and he’s coughing now, loud and harsh and hacking, pulling deep gasps of air in between fits. Sonny’s coaching him through it, one hand resting gently on his forehead while Clay shakes. </p><p>“Come on buddy, that’s it, just get it out.” </p><p>He whispers quietly. Their comms crackle to life in their ears, </p><p>“This is Alpha one, exfil is getting hot we’re going to have to move soon.”</p><p>Jason responds immediately, </p><p>“Copy that Alpha one, moving to exfil.” Looking down at where Trent is still crouched by Clay’s side he continues, “Alright, we gotta go.”</p><p>Trent nods. </p><p>“Yeah, got it. Sonny, Brock, help me get him up, I’ll take him.” </p><p>Sonny nods. Clay’s breathing has evened out a little bit, but he doesn’t really make much effort to help as Sonny and Brock get him up on his feet, eyes half-lidded and lips still a little blue. His hair is slicked against his forehead, dripping water down his cheeks like tears. Crouching a little Trent gets his shoulders under Clay’s torso, lifting him into a fireman's carry. After he takes a second to adjust Clay’s weight he looks at Jason. </p><p>“Alright, ready to go.”</p><p>They move quickly towards the exfil point, Trent in the center carrying Clay over his shoulders as the rest of the team fall into place around them. They don’t meet any resistance on their way out, most of the boat already having been cleared out, but as they approach the port side of the stern where the RHIB’s are waiting for them Ray can hear the faint echo of gunfire. </p><p>Full Metal dips a chin in acknowledgment as they approach, eyes flicking to Clay’s limp body draped over Trent’s shoulders. He doesn’t ask any questions though, just waves a hand at the guys posted up behind him, exchanging fire with two combatants on the level above them. </p><p>“Derek, Franklin, pull back. We’re out of here.”</p><p>Metal calls, sharply and the last of Alpha start to pull back towards the hook point. </p><p>Trent goes back to working on Clay as soon as they get him laid out it in the bottom of the RHIB, tapping at his face till his eyes flicker open. </p><p>“Clay, I’m gonna ask you some questions alright, don’t try to talk just nod or shake your head got it?”</p><p>Clay nods faintly, lips still too pale and blue. </p><p>“Okay, are we in Virginia Beach?”</p><p>Clay shakes his head shortly, </p><p>“Are we in Somalia?”</p><p>He nods. </p><p>“Does Sonny owe you fifty bucks?”</p><p>Clay nods again, a short wet laugh rasping it’s way out of his throat. Trent smiles, pats him on the shoulder gently. </p><p>“Okay, good job. Just try and rest, we’ll get you on some oxygen once we get back to shore, get you to a hospital to get checked out.” </p><p>Trent shuffles away from his side, leaving Clay under Sonny’s watchful eye and shifting to sit by Jason and Ray. </p><p>“Alright, well he seems pretty coherent, which is a good sign. Have to wait for the hospital to rule out any neurological damage but it looks like he’s going to be okay.” </p><p>Jason’s shoulders visibly relax and he huffs out a sigh, clapping Trent on the shoulder. </p><p>“Good, thanks Trent.”</p><p>Trent nods, smiling faintly, and he shifts back to sit by Clay, keeping an eye on his vitals as the speed towards the shore. </p><p>Ray looks out over the dark ocean skidding by beneath their boat, closes his eyes and lets the wind whip his face raw. He can’t get over the feeling of Clay’s hand going limp in his, the image of his sightless eyes underneath the surface of the water. It makes his stomach turn. Something bumps at his elbow, jolts him out of his haze. He turns to see Jason, watching him carefully. </p><p>“You good?”</p><p>Jason asks, words half stolen away by the wind. Ray shrugs, looks back out across the water.</p><p>“Yeah. Just a little shaken up is all.” </p><p>Ray replies, because now isn’t the time to fall to pieces. Jason dips his chin, then hesitates, </p><p>“It wasn’t on you Ray,”</p><p>Ray nods, because he does know that, but somehow knowing that doesn’t make it any better. </p><p>By the time they make it back to shore Clay’s shivering pretty bad, the icy water starting to finally catch up to him, and they wrap him in emergency blankets, packing heat packs into his armpits and groin to stave off hypothermia. Despite everything Clay’s condition is actually pretty stable so the decision is made to fly him back to Virginia Beach instead of bringing him to a friendly hospital in Somalia. His breathing is a little ragged, but it eases a bit once they get him on oxygen. Trent spends the whole flight back by his side, face tight. There’s still things that could go wrong, Ray knows, dry drowning and hypothermia and any one of a hundred other complications that can result from drowning. His mind skips over the word, even as he thinks it. <em>Drowning</em>. It feels so final, so absolute. It’s funny, because aside from the bruising on Clay’s leg he looks pretty okay. A little pale, maybe, but in one piece. He died though, medically, clinically, dead. And now he’s alive, and god, is Ray grateful for that, but he’s just not sure how to process it.   </p><p>Clay makes it back to the states without any complications, and is immediately whisked off to the hospital. Trent goes with him in the ambulance, with promises to update them all as soon as the doctors check him over. Brock and Sonny go decide to go out for a drink, to try to decompress from the mission but Ray’s heart isn’t in it and he begs out, heads home instead. </p><p>Naima knows as soon as he walks in the door, reads it on his face in an instant. He could never hide anything from her, not the things that mattered. She bolts upright, magazine she was reading slipping from her lap to the floor with faint thud.</p><p>“Who.”</p><p>She asks, face drawn and pale. Ray swallows hard past the lump in his throat. </p><p>“It’s…Clay.”</p><p>He forces out, dry and cracked and ragged. Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes suddenly glassy. </p><p>“Ray, is he…”</p><p>She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t have too. Ray shakes his head, and thanks god that he doesn’t have to say yes. </p><p>“No, no. He’s alive, we got him back but-Naima he-”</p><p>His voice breaks then, and suddenly Naima’s there, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, soft hair pressed against his neck. She smells of lavender perfume and baby powder and faintly underneath the sterile antiseptic scent of hospital, she smells like home. He leans in to her touch, pulls her close to him. </p><p>They stand there for a long while, while Naima lets him fall to pieces on her shoulder. Just holding each other. Eventually she takes his hand and leads him to the couch, sits down next to him. </p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>She asks, not pressing, not forcing him, just there. Ready to listen. He takes a deep trembling breath, and then he tells her. About the sudden surge of fear when Clay had told him leg was trapped, the way the water lapped at his ankles and then his knees and then his hips, the sickening terrifying helplessness of it all. Tells her about the numbness that settled when Clay took that last gasping breath as the ocean rushed into his lungs. </p><p>It feels odd to say the words out loud, to tell someone else what happened to. Clay died, heart not beating, not breathing, full stop. They got him back, but Clay died holding Ray’s hand. He doesn’t know what to do with that, how to pack it away in a box. How he’s just supposed to forget the feeling of Clay’s fingers going limp in his, the way his hair had drifted loosely in the faint current. </p><p>When he finishes Naima looks horrified, eyes wide and glassy, one hand pressed so tight against her mouth her knuckles are white. </p><p>“Oh, Ray, I’m so sorry. That’s… I can’t imagine.” </p><p>And Ray doesn’t want her to be able too, that’s why he does this. So she never has to know what it feels like. </p><p>Trent texts him a little later. Apparently Clay has someone watching out for him, because there was no permanent damage done. The hospital wanted to keep him overnight for observation, but he should be ready to go home by the next day barring any complications. The worst injuries he sustained from the whole ordeal are a bruised shinbone and two fractured ribs as a result of CPR. All in all, he got insanely, stupidly lucky, and he should be back on duty in less then a month. </p><p>Ray goes to visit Clay the next morning. When he knocks on the door Stella answers it, looking drawn. She smiles when she sees him, even if it’s faint and a little uncomfortable. </p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>She says, sounding tired. Ray shifts awkwardly, smiles tightly back. </p><p>“I, uh, just wanted to drop by and check in on him.”</p><p>She nods, </p><p>“Yeah, he just woke up actually. I was about to run and get some coffee anyways.”</p><p>She steps back, holding the door to let him in before moving to grab her purse from the chair by Clay’s bed. Leaning down she presses a kiss to his cheek, whispering something in his ear before she slings her bag over her shoulder and leaves with a last anemic smile in Ray’s direction. Dipping his chin Ray takes a seat in the spot that Stella just vacated, clasping his hands together in front of him. </p><p>Clay actually looks surprisingly good considering his near brush with death last night. He’s got a nasal cannula in his nose and an IV in the back of his hand, and he’s still a little pale under his tan, but all in all he looks alright. A far cry from the way he’d looked last night, laid out in the hallway of the ship with purple-blue lips. Ray shakes the memory off, takes a deep breath. </p><p>“Hey, how you feeling?”</p><p>He asks, trying to keep his voice even. Clay shrugs, and when he speaks his voice is rasping and rough and painful. </p><p>“Like I gargled a shit ton of salt water.”</p><p>The joke falls flat though, the image of Clay convulsing just under the surface of the water as he drowned still too fresh in Ray’s mind to be funny. He tries to smile anyways, stretches his lips into something close to a grin. It’s not that Ray feels guilty, exactly, he wasn’t lying too Jase when he told him he knew it wasn’t his fault, but it doesn’t change that he was there. That he watched it happen, and held Clay’s limp heavy body as the water drained out of the room. Ray takes a deep shaky breath, hands clasped tight in front of him. </p><p>“You really scared the shit of me, out of all of us, you know that?”</p><p>Clay winces, nods.</p><p>“Yeah, scared myself pretty good too, I think.” He pauses then, shifting a little in his bed uncomfortably before starting again. “Look, Ray, I just wanted to say, I-I don’t really remember much of what happened, to be honest. But…I remember you holding my hand. Even when I couldn’t feel anything else, I could feel that. And that meant something, y’know?” </p><p>He huffs out a scratchy awkward laugh then, runs a hand through his hair, </p><p>“Guess what I’m trying to say is thank you. You didn’t let me go, man.”</p><p>Ray swallows hard against the lump rising in his throat, wipes roughly at his beard. </p><p>“Course not, told you I wouldn’t didn’t I?”</p><p>And when he smiles this time it doesn’t feel as rough around the edges.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s two months since Somalia, since Clay died and came back to them. He got cleared for duty a week after he’d been released from the hospital, and they’ve run a few ops since then. All in all, Clay seems unshaken by his ordeal, bouncing back like it had never even happened. He’s even cracked jokes about it with the other guys, messing around like it’s not a big deal. Still, Ray’s not entirely convinced that Clay’s as alright as he’d like everyone to believe. He doesn’t call him on it though, figures if Clay wants to talk he’ll talk. Ray’s patient, he can wait. </p>
<p>Right now the whole team is out at a lake, on a rare day off. The weather is perfect, blue skies as far as the eye can see with a few wispy white clouds scudding their way across the horizon. Trent’s over at the charcoal grill, spatula in hand, while Sonny and Brock play around in the shallows of the lake, shoving each other around. Jason’s even joined in the fun, standing up to his ankles with a beer in his hand egging them on. The smell of barbecue floats in the air and a faint breeze keeps it from getting too hot. </p>
<p>For all that it’s pretty much the perfect early summer day Clay doesn’t look like he’s having much fun. He’s sitting beside Ray, face wooden and beer sitting untouched in the sand beside his feet. </p>
<p>“Hey, you good?”</p>
<p>Ray asks, frowning slightly. Clay starts, glances over at him with a smile pasted on his lips. </p>
<p>“Yeah, fine.” </p>
<p>He says, before his eyes wander back to the lake, a glassy blankness settling in them. Like he’s remembering something, maybe. Ray follows his gaze, and feels <br/>understanding starting to settle uncomfortably into place. </p>
<p>“Clay. It’s okay if you don’t want to go in.”</p>
<p>He says very carefully. Clay flinches a little, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly where they’re resting on his knees.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure. A SEAL that’s afraid of water, I’ve heard that joke before.”</p>
<p>He says, a touch bitterly, sand suddenly Ray’s heart aches for him. </p>
<p>“Clay…” </p>
<p>He starts, not sure what he’s going to say but knowing he has to say something. Clay interrupts him before he can finish though.</p>
<p>“I lied.” He says, abruptly, carefully keeping his eyes locked forward on where Brock and Sonny are still messing around. “Back in the hospital, I lied. Not what I said about you-that…that’s still true. But about not remembering. I remember everything.” </p>
<p>Clay’s voice is fragile, like it could shatter. Ray closes his eyes, stomach twisting.</p>
<p>“I thought I knew kinda what it would feel like, you know? I’ve been through SERE, I’ve been water boarded. Figured, how different could it be. It….I didn’t know, Ray. At first it wasn’t so bad, we’ve all been trained to hold our breaths. But then…there was this pressure, just building and building and building. Like I was going to explode if I didn’t take a breath. So I did. The water was so cold, in my mouth, my nose, my lungs. The scariest part was at the end, there was just this calm. Like, I didn’t even cared if I died anymore, I was just floating. Like I gave into it.” </p>
<p>“Jesus,” Ray whispers, feeling a little sick. “Why didn’t you say anything?”</p>
<p>Clay shrugs slowly, avoiding Ray’s gaze, fingers twisting in his jeans a little anxiously. </p>
<p>“I didn’t want you guys to think I was being weak, I guess. We’re SEALs, bad things happens, you move on. It’s just the job.” </p>
<p>Ray shakes his head. </p>
<p>“Fuck, Clay, you <em>drowned</em>. Nobody’s just expecting you to get over that man, you’re not being weak.” </p>
<p>Clay nods, but he doesn’t look quite convinced, still staring out across the lake.</p>
<p>“You know, I’m not even really afraid of drowning or water or anything. I just… what if I give up again? What if I stop fighting? I did it once…”</p>
<p>Ray thinks back to that cramped little boiler room slowly filling with water, to the way that that Clay had kicked and thrashed and <em>held on </em>tight enough to bruise the bones in Ray's hand, the way he’d fought to come back even after they’d all been ready to give up. He doesn’t see how Clay can look at that and think that he gave up. </p>
<p>“Clay, you didn’t give up. You fought for as a long as you could and you lost, and there’s no shame in that. You weren’t fighting something you could win against.  You understand?”</p>
<p>Clay finally turns his gaze towards Ray, and his eyes are unsure. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” He whispers, “I understand.” </p>
<p>“Good. Never forget that.” </p>
<p>Ray reaches out, puts a hand on Clay’s shoulder and squeezes it tight. It’s terrible to think that Clay’s been carrying this on his shoulders by himself, when they were all right there. But that’s always been Clay’s m.o., to suffer in silence even when help is right there. Still, it makes Ray sad. </p>
<p>“You know, I was pretty torn up that night.” Clay looks a little confused, but Ray just carries on.  “After you got shipped off to the hospital I went straight home, cried in Naima’s arms.” </p>
<p>“You…cried?” </p>
<p>Clay says slowly, like the thought that someone might shed tears over him is foreign. Ray nods, laughs a little. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah, believe me it wasn’t pretty. But she helped me through it. I talked to her, to Jase, to my priest. They helped me too. Sometimes, no matter how strong you are or badass you are, you can’t do things on your own. And that’s okay. It’s why we operate in teams.” Ray pauses then, so Clay can truly hear how much he means what he’s about to say. “You can lean on us, if you need to. That’s not weakness either, brother.” </p>
<p>Clay’s looking away again, out over the lake, at Brock and Sonny and Jase, at Trent walking over to join them. Sonny sees them looking and yells something unintelligible accompanied by a wide grin, splashing a wave of water at Brock as he does so. Jason jumps back to avoid the fallout, shaking his head and laughing. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Clay says, lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah, I think I’m starting to see that.” </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>